Indelible and Inescapable
by sarathechimera
Summary: Hours before Fodlan will erupt into war after centuries of peace, Garreg Mach falls into a restless night awaiting the attack of the Imperial army. Among its sleepless residents are Byleth and Dimitri, driven from their rooms by grief and ghosts. They will learn the price of intimacy and passion and the cost of vulnerability. What is worth more, duty and pride or love and passion?


Disclaimer: Fire Emblem Three Houses is owned and trademarked by Nintendo. I do not own nor did I create the characters in or world of this work of fiction.

Rated M for adult situations and lemons.

Author's Note: This fic takes place during Lone Moon the night before the final cut scene preceding the Battle of the Mountains.

* * *

An evening full of anticipation drove him from his quarters. Dimitri was known to take walks at all times of the night and he was rarely chastised so long as he stayed outside. This routine usually brought him as close to calm as he had known in four years. He would tread from the goddess tower to the fishing pond if the doors were left open and back again until his energy was so spent that he would fall asleep the instant he stopped moving.

The pacing that usually served to ease his mind and appease his tormenters offer no such comfort tonight. The demands of the dead mercilessly pursued him as he followed his usual circuit from the graveyard to the fishing pond and back again.

No matter how fervently he promised them that he understood and would deliver Edelgard's head to them, they could see the doubt that clung to his heart more clearly than even he could. They demanded blood and he needed a plan to ensure that he could deliver. Then, and only then, could he rest.

Scouts had returned with reports of the Imperial army holding just over the horizon. Their numbers were countless and, looking from the top of the goddess tower, the flickering lights of campfires and torches could be seen. They would assuredly advance in the morning. The night before would be, had been, quiet and tense. Voices in whispers discussed the day ahead and no one tarried on the grounds.

The Professor had relayed the plan to them and dutifully instructed he and his cohort in thorough preparation. They would have to fight, assuredly, but they would stay away from the front lines and serve as a support for the battle-hardened Knights of Seiros. He had argued inexhaustibly for the honor of serving on the front lines but the Archbishop would not be swayed in this.

So much about tomorrow was uncertain but if he knew anything to be true it was this, the chaos of battle was all consuming and no one would notice should he become separated from his classmates. The details of how he would accomplish this were blurry at best but he would find her. Even if it meant crushing the skulls of every soldier in the Empire, even if it cost him his life, he would find that woman and spill her blood on the stones of the monastery.

Tonight, pace as he might, he could not stifle the nervous energy tingling in his limbs. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow," he repeated to himself. Tomorrow he would finally know relief and peace, having earned it at long last. Tomorrow would be the end of his suffering and the past could finally be laid to rest.

The monastery was uncharacteristically quiet tonight, eerily so. Without the low hum of activity, there was nothing to distract from the presence of ghosts. How long since he last slept? Sleep came rarely for him since the discovery of the dagger on the bridge.

"_Yoooour giffft."_

The distant, deep and mournful voice of his father intruded abruptly and Dimitri dismissed it with a quick shake of his head. The less he slept, the louder the ghosts became and the more disruptive their presence.

He had not slept since the Holy Tomb. The memory of Edelgard's face framed in the Flame Emperor's visor-less helmet leapt into his mind's eye. The vision, aggressive and unyielding, prompted a chorus of screams and the recollection of death rattles he had witnessed as a child to rise in response.

"Stop," he implored softly. With great effort, he tucked the memory away. Despite the practiced stoicism he employed to hide his torment, his exhaustion weathered away his defense.

Thankfully, the dead quieted their anguish and he turned from the pond to pace back toward the training grounds. As he climbed the stone steps from the lower dormitory the sound of a wooden door scraped through the night and he ducked back instinctively. If he was caught wandering the grounds tonight, he would be forced back into the suffocating confines of his room. Panic at the thought of being trapped in such small quarters drove him to duck through the wrought iron gate into the neighboring courtyard. Crouching there, he waited to hear the door shutting again before moving again.

Taking stock of where he was hiding, he found that he was in the courtyard adjacent to the lecture halls. And, upon further inspection, he noted firelight flickering through the blue stained glass of his house's homeroom.

Byleth stood silent and solid behind her desk, specter like eyes boring into the battlefield mock-up. The fire continued to crackle away, providing more light than warmth to the stone walled room. As the preparations for battle peaked into a feverish pace, classes did not meet and without their instruction to distract her, Byleth resorted to reviewing the defense strategy. She had dragged one of the student's long desks to widen her own and its length was covered in maps and books.

Wooden markers stood dark on the map, their shadows flickering in the fire and candle light which gave the parchment the appearance of being alight with fire. There would be casualties. But she could save the lives in her charge. Had she prepared them enough? She was certain of that. They would follow her direction to their doom before they questioned her.

The silence of this night was so oppressive that it dampened the crackle of the fire and it pressed against her senses, muting everything outside of herself. The quiet forced her to choose between embracing the newfound emptiness within her or to acknowledge the unending questions buzzing through her mind.

"_Who am I? What am I? What was done to me? What was taken from me?"_ She housed the progenitor goddess within her, did that make her a goddess or human? Perhaps she'd never been a human. Perhaps she'd always been… what? Something more than a human? Something less? If she was indeed the goddess, why did nothing happen when she sat on the throne? Byleth winced, raising a hand to her temple. These circular questions folded in on themselves, each one sparking a new inquiry with no answers forthcoming. She could feel her breath quicken as confusion and anger welled up within her and she heard her father's voice retelling what was written in his journal, _"The child had no heartbeat."_

Pressing her other hand to the other temple, she exhaled shakily, trying to calm the panic that accompanied this train of thought. Distressing as it may be, it did not prevent her from living and breathing. She existed.

If only her father had lived. If only they had more time and he could answer her questions. If only he had not been taken from her. What was the use of godlike powers and dominion over time if she could not save her own father? What good was she? Bitterness rose into her throat and she doubled over her desk, hands pressing to the wooden surface to support her weight.

A few breaths in-and-out and she felt her mood calm. What would Sothis have said if she could see her like this? She could hear her breathing become more even but, as she listened, the ringing silence within her became more evident and a new heartache spiked in response.

Sothis too was gone. She knew full well that she would never hear her voice again but, despite that knowledge, she listened and searched for any sign of the girl. Sothis, who had dwelt sleeping within her, had awakened only a year ago but somehow Byleth had known of her presence since the beginning. A constant companion that some might call a guardian whom she had come to rely on. After Jeralt's passing, Sothis was a present comfort when everyone else walked quickly past or away from her. Even in solitude, she had never been alone. Until now. Byleth shut her eyes in concentration as she listened for any sound or stirring in her mind but was met with only the sound of her breathing. Sothis was truly gone.

She preferred not feeling anything to this piercing grief. In moments where she let her guard down it sprang up, threatening to shatter her into pieces. There was a time when she could not feel emotions. Until Sothis' awakening and her arrival at the monastery, she'd not understood why she sparked such fear in her enemies. The 'Ashen Demon' showed no emotion as she struck down her enemies. But here, Byleth had learned what happiness felt like, laughing with the students, pride in witnessing their victories, fear, anxiety, rage and even sadness at the passing of her father. She had wept for the first and only time that she would allow over his final breaths. If she knew suffering like this as possible, she would have tried harder to extinguish the things she had felt since coming here.

Everything had changed in the Sealed Forest. In a rush of golden energy, Sothis had dissolved into her, granting her the power to rip through the sky itself to escape the dark dimension. As though the lingering pain of her loses were not enough, even her visage in the mirror was strange and foreign to her. It served as a reminder of what had come to pass and what had been taken from her.

Everyone looked at her differently now. They pitied her but had no true understanding of how much she had lost. Even when she instructed them, she could see the sympathy brimming in their eyes. Everywhere she looked, she was reminded of how she felt and the insufferable condolences of others.

Edelgard's betrayal and blasphemy had provided a distraction for everyone as fear and self-preservation eclipsed any concern they had for her. She was free to focus on the preparations and strategy for the defense of the monastery and no one had time for a quiet touch of her arm or a concerned nod of the head. The nervous buzz about the grounds and frantic preparations for defense effectively drowned out the devastating silence within her.

Battle was familiar and preparations were rote. Byleth spent long hours in the weeks after the declaration of war over seeing drills, tactical meetings and strategy sessions. She had no time to consider whether she should try to sleep before it was upon her and she instantly fell into a restless sleep often in the middle of some task or another. These matters blessedly kept her from the tight confines of the room she used to occupy along with Sothis but tonight was the exception. Their likelihood of victory was slim and so the preparations had halted and the planning had stalled. If they hadn't prepared enough by now, there was nothing more they could do.

She was alone. So utterly alone.

Luminescent green eyes hooded and her jaw set firm as she breathed deliberately through the pain smoldering in the pit of her stomach. The deafening silence and crippling loneliness accompanied by the sound of her ragged breath almost broke her. And yet she breathed. She breathed against the invisible split in her stomach and each inhale pushed against the wound, reminding her that it couldn't be sutured.

She forced herself to straighten and lowered her arms to her sides, tightened fists defiant against the urge to cradle her stomach. She would not yield to this weakness, nor humor these feelings by holding herself. She had to remain strong and steadfast because she feared that, should she relent, the grief would overcome her.

Byleth had never been alone and now solitude was all that she could allow herself.

The screech and creak of the latch on the large wooden doors jarred her attention and her eyes shot open. Scolding herself for entertaining her sorrow, she collected herself as quickly as possible. The intruder opened the door fully and stood observing the occupant from the darkness of the courtyard behind.

She recognized him immediately by his stance; forward, hips squared, broad shoulders square, gaze straight forward. Dimitri had a knack for finding her at her most vulnerable or, perhaps she was most vulnerable in his presence and was instantly ashamed of the swell of longing to run to him that rose within her. She let the feelings surge and crash without display.

Dimitri had not given a thought to who might be inside the room, only that he was curious to see. He suddenly felt like an intruder upon finding the Professor alone behind her desk. He swallowed to wet his throat and shifted his weight to distribute evenly under his hips as he dismissed this out-of-place feeling. The way she regarded him since his outburst in the Holy Tomb was unnerving, harkening back to the way she was upon first arriving to the monastery. It was as though, overnight, she had reverted to mistrust after all the time they'd spent together. Did she think him dangerous?

"_She knows that you're gutlessss…."_ hissed Glenn's voice in his ear. A reminder of his unworthiness was not uncommon when coming from the dead. Dimitri placed a practiced smile on his lips so that his voice might convey a sense of ease.

"Professor. I hope I am not intruding. I thought I was the only one awake," he said pleasantly as he stepped into the hall. The tone of voice and the intention were rehearsed and easy to adopt in moments when the dead seeped through veil to speak directly to him. He could still feel Glenn there, breathing over his shoulder and muttering indiscernibly.

During the day, this room housed students and faculty and was comfortable when filled with life. But now, lit only by firelight, it felt empty like a monstrous belly with rafters for ribs and lungs that bellowed in time with the ebb and flow of flame. He ignored the sense that he was about to be devoured as he stepped further into the room.

She didn't move an inch and her face remained impassive. This made him want to remind her of their friendship, their shared sense of loss. He of all people could understand how it felt to see your family murdered and the powerless feeling that followed. But they had found Jeralt's killer and avenged his death. Could she not soften to him as she had before? Having seen her lips blossom into a smile and her eyes alight with laugher, the return to this placid visage was frightening

"I could say the same to you," came her reply.

"_Foolish,"_ he chided himself at the entertainment of ghost stories. "It's so quiet tonight. Would you believe I find it harder to sleep when it's quiet like this?"

"_Such a fool." _This time it was his step-mother giving voice to his deprecation. He continued as though he had not heard. "That being said, I could use some company. May I join you?"

Even when she was distant to him, her presence was comforting and the whispers of his shortcomings always faded when he was with her. The shame of desiring such a reprieve from his departed kin was eclipsed by what he knew tomorrow would bring.

Byleth wanted to tell him that she understood. That silence and solitude was torture and despite her conscious denials, his presence was a relief to her as well. She longed for his company in the quiet if only to stave off the questions swirling in her mind.

Willing her jaw to release and first peeling her tongue from the roof of her mouth, she nodded. She did not want him to leave. Her voice was level and cordial when she spoke, "Yes, your highness."

Unexpectedly, the formality of her tone stung him. Was she so guarded against him that she could not use his name? How often had he wished in the lonesome darkness of night that he was not what he was, that he did not bear the burden of his birth, if only for a little while or in the presence of friends. Could he not have friends? Goddess forgive his moments of weakness and inability to bear the weight alone! He could not stomach himself or the reminder in his title of who he was supposed to be. Just a moment's rest and he could regain enough strength to carry it to tomorrow, to see the job done and find peace and quiet.

"Please. Tonight, of all nights, do not be so formal with me."

At his behest, she'd often used his title-less name but there was something heavier in the air tonight. They were truly secluded, there was no Sothis to watch through her eyes or chide her should she act rashly. An unexpected breath snagged and her stomach twinged as she contemplated his name. She was forced to wrap her tongue in ice before uttering, "Dimitri, then."

The relief was instant and palpable as the sound of his title-less name washed over him like fresh air. The sound of it on her tongue tonight was different, guarded but against what? Him? He must be imagining it, after all he wasn't good at subtle things like tone.

"_Weak, pitiful boy. Now. Go now! You know where her camp is. Go, cut, break. Head. Bring her head to me."_ Willing his attention outward, he fixed a thin smile to his lips, determined not to weaken under the demands of his dead father for the head of that woman.

His eyes darted to where the Professor stood, watching him as though she could hear them too. _"Yes! Be patient! You will have her head tomorrow." _

She watched as he stepped across the hall toward her. His movements were fluid, well-practiced and fitting of the future king of Faerghus. The fire light accentuated his lithe frame as well as the dark circles under his eyes that had been present since Edelgard's treachery in the Holy Tomb. He had been complaining of a headache for weeks, no doubt he was plagued by sleeplessness as she was. The subtle strain accompanying what he certainly thought was a friendly smile was notable. Dedue was correct, he was pushing himself too hard.

Unbidden feelings bubbled up to her throat and she tore her gaze away from him to fix on the map, chin lowered. Be it a trick of the light or this night's magic, she recognized the pain encased behind the ice of his eyes. He guarded it, much like she guarded the searing pain inside of her. She was immediately thankful for the dim light that hid the softening of her face from him. Only when Dimitri paused opposite the table from her did she dare to glance up at him.

He stood awkwardly across from her, noticing that the cloak that was never absent from her shoulders was just that. Without the voluminous fabric to obscure her figure, he became keenly aware of the femininity of her frame the movement of her breasts with each intake of breath framed by the simple black of her shirt. He glanced at the desk seeking a distraction from the shape of her body in the firelight, comprehending its contents; a map of the monastery and the surrounding countryside and books scattered haphazardly.

Picking up a slender darkly bound volume but hardly noting the title. He asked casually, "Isn't it late in the evening for lesson planning?" A glance back to her face revealed eyes that seemed to glow in the firelight. That same light caught fly-away strands of hair about her head, giving her an unearthly appearance.

When she spoke, it was matter-of-factly. Her tone gave the distinct impression that he should not have had to ask. "I am reviewing Imperial siege tactics used to hold their present-day borders."

She had placed markers on the map, utilizing what appeared to be the front, main thoroughfare of the monastery. Only a few markers seemed to signify allies, reminding him of the drastic imbalance in troops and resources at their disposal and the unlikeliness of their victory.

"This looks different from the strategy you briefed us on. What are you planning, Professor?" He rounded the desk to join her at the head of the map, attempting to piece together her strategy. Could this be a diversion? A new gambit?

"Don't call me that." The words spilled from her lips before she realized they had formed. Startled, she pursed her lips.

"I'm sorry," he started but she was looking at him with such intensity that he paused. Had he injured her in some way? Something inside of him softened as he looked at her and he recounted the long suppressed urge to take her in his arms, to do anything to set right whatever was causing her pain. "What would you have me call you?" he asked gently.

His tone stirred something within her and she caught her breath as she looked up to meet his gaze which was fixed intently on her own. "My name."

She said it simply as though he should know what it was. His lips quirked in what might have been an amused smile. "Certainly. Only, I don't believe you've told us your name."

She turned to face him squarely and her core clamped down on the breath that threatened to become irregular as her stomach churned. "Byleth."

How intimate her name sounded wrapped in her voice. Warmth accompanied the quickening of his heart at the sound of her name. He was surprised by this physical response to something so simple and it displayed plainly on his face. He cleared his throat softly before repeating, "Byleth, then."

A rush of heat to his face altered him to an impending blush and he realized that she was near enough to touch. His fingers twitched and he barely restrained himself from reaching out to feel the softness of her skin and draw her closer. Clearing his throat a second time, he turned back to the map and a glance to her from the corner of his eyes revealed that she had done the same. He allowed the moment and the urge to pass as he guided his thoughts back to the impending battle that would come with the morning asking, "What is all of this?"

She had often entertained her attraction to him. His earnest nature and formal demeanor were endearing but completely at odds with his prowess in battle. She had allowed herself more often than she liked to admit too much freedom in fantasy as they sparred or in the observance of his training. When his attention returned to the map, she released the breath she had been holding under his scrutiny.

During the light of day and its distractions, she could dismiss the pull of him, the imagined strength of his arms and the coolness of his skin. Perhaps he was unaware of how close to her he stood as he examined the markers with a fixed intensity but she could feel the lure of his presence, demanding her attention but if he remained focused on the map, she allowed her gaze to remain fixed on his face.

The plan, as it stood, put he and his class behind the Knights, serving as a last line of defense should they fail in suppressing the invading Imperial army. Somehow, amidst the chaos, he would slip away in pursuit of revenge. The answer lay somewhere on this map and the plans Byleth had crafted. He simply needed to focus and it would come to him.

Suddenly, he realized Byleth had not spoken. How long had he been standing in silence, lost in thought? Had he been standing there like a slack-jawed fool? His attention darted to her face to find that her eyes were fixed on him and a cold dread smothered the anxiety charging his pulse. "Byleth?" he asked, hesitantly.

Her eyes shifted into focus as though he had awakened her from a deep sleep and she realized that he had asked her about her plan. He was looking at her again. The firelight behind him made it difficult to discern his expression and she hoped it obscured her face as well. Ignoring the growing desire to close the small distance between them, she held his gaze evenly and reigned her voice steady.

"They will seek to drive their way through the front gate by sheer force. No doubt they will have other parties splintered off to test the defenses elsewhere but the most accessible entry point is here. Through no shortage of numbers, they will try to overrun and intimidate us into falling back. But if this is not their plan, we will play to their bloodlust by allowing the archbishop visibility here."

Dimitri couldn't believe what he was hearing. Byleth adamantly resisted him in changes to the battle plans only a few days prior and now she had developed a contingency? Incredulously, he interjected at the first opportunity. "You cannot mean to expose Lady Rhea on a suspicion! The risk is too..."

"Let me finish." Her tone left no room for argument and his voice died at her word.

This was madness! How could he steal away when the risk to his friends had been doubled by provoking the vile Imperial general? His mind reeled and fear began to tighten in his chest. It took a focused effort to listen as she continued without further outburst.

"Lady Rhea will remain well guarded by the Knights who will have no choice but to fall back. The risk is well calculated. The Knights will be supported by our sturdiest fortress knights. Dedue will balk at remaining behind but you will speak with him." She paused, watching him sharply for signs of objection.

Dedue will remain behind? He struggled to calm his fear and wrap his head around what this could mean and what possibilities this could award him. They each studied the face of the other, watching for a tell-tale sign of something unnamed, a telegraph of what the other was thinking but neither would allow their guard to crack.

He studied her for another evaluating breath. Had she seen his intentions? He mustn't seem too eager at the prospect of such egregious casualties that the Knights of Seiros would be forced to fall back. "Go on."

"Your… anger… at Edelgard is well known as is your inclination to lead a direct attack. We will use those expectations to our advantage." While her tone remained firm, she chose her words carefully. Having witnessed first-hand the uncontrollable nature of his rage in the Holy Tomb she tread lightly in naming his step-sister.

Had she not been observing his face so closely she would have missed the spasm that contorted his face at the utterance. He made no effort to hide the clenching of his jaw and the grinding of his teeth or he lacked the self-awareness to do so.

That woman's name conjured a multitude of images that flashed across his mind's eye in an instant. Her pale, lavender eyes staring at him emotionlessly from the dais in the Holy Tomb were replaced by the same young, glaring eyes of his childhood friend as she diligently taught him how to dance. He saw his hands, monstrous and claw like grasp that young face and her gaze harden, daring and defiant.

Wincing, he focusing on what Byleth was saying. Focusing on her mouth as it formed words. They looked so soft, those lips. What would they feel like pressed to his?

"_How I wish to have known Ingrid's lips…"_ moaned Glenn and Dimitri grated his teeth to drown out the sound of his dear friend's mourning brought on by an unguarded thought.

He lowered his eyes to the map, pulling his gaze away from the temptation of her face, her lips and the comforting confidence of her voice. How could he be so weak when he was this close to achieving his goal? Focusing on the markers, his jaw set hard and his arms crossed defensively. "Go on."

Her expression darkened at the sound of his voice. It was low and strained, a rasp that indicated the vice-like hold he had on his emotions. If her plan worked, she might be able to ease his suffering and save the lives of those in her charge. She imagined the relief it would be to reach out and touch him, to soothe both of their suffering. Instead, she joined him at the map.

"You will advance with abandon, supported by archers and war masters to guard your flanks."

She was beside him again, moving markers along the map as she spoke. As she did he dared again to look at her out of the corner of his eye. It was enough if he did not turn his head and note the slender tilting of her neck or the brilliance of her face as she spoke of strategy. She was never so lovely as when she was in her element.

She moved the markers forward along the main thoroughfare with rehearsed motion, familiar with strategy briefings. "Your progress will be slow due to the number of foot soldiers she will send down the center. They should give you no trouble."

He watched her as she relayed the details of her strategy with the finesse of a storyteller. Her eyes followed the flow of movement on the map as though she it had sprung to life at her narration. He too could imagine the battle field as she spoke.

He saw himself meeting enemy soldiers one after another, felling one with a lateral sweep of his spear, disarming another before spilling their blood at the throat. Moving forward without hesitation or regard for the fallen as he stepped over their still warm corpses. His blood began to sing at the thought of it. "What about you?" he asked.

She picked up a marker that must signify her position and showed it to him, drawing his focus out of the bloody fantasy raging in his head. Before he could fully comprehend what the irritated expression on her face meant, she slid her body in the small space between him and the desk to place her marker on the map where he stood. His hazed attention snapped into sharp focus as the curve of her hip and the firm roundness of her backside dragged across his thigh and groin.

He sucked his breath sharply through his teeth as he became acutely aware of the suppleness of her body. Surprise at the overwhelming urge to remain where he stood and even lean into her prompted a small shift back, providing space for her to stand but not so much to indicate distress. Contact with her body should not have affected him so. After all, had they not sparred often and had she not touched him to reposition him on the training grounds?

For a moment, her back was to him and he yearned to tangle his fingers in the heavy strands of her hair. Giving the slightest shake of his head, he focused on her words to distract him from the subtle but undeniable response in his body to her closeness.

Willfully disregarding the feeling of excitement in her stomach at the contact between them, Byleth placed her marker on the side-road. He seemed entirely focused on the strategy and battlefield, providing no indication that he too had been affected by the brush of her body against him. She continued as though this was a mid-day lecture and he nothing more than the head of her house.

"I will escort our mages and assassins who will stealthily eliminate any enemies trying to flank your advance. They will make room for our healers to safely attend to you and your troops."

His imagination crafted the scene as she spoke and once again found himself on the stone paved-road that lead to the grand arched doors to the monastery. Arrows rained around him and as he reeled from a slice to his arm he saw a swordsman charging from between the buildings to his flank. No sooner had the soldier began his war cry than it dissolved into a death rattle and his body fell. Dimitri saw her standing in the shadows like an unearthly harbinger of death. Her face was momentarily illuminated by the fire bursting through the buildings windows and he beheld her bathed in the pandemonium of war. Blood dripped from the Sword of the Creator in her hand until a precise flick of her wrist sent droplets flying. Her eyes opened and locked with his. Eternity existed in that moment, birth and death, lust and passion. As quickly as it came to be, it was gone and they continued their separate advances.

Her voice brought him back to his body and he found that his heart was racing as the objective began to take shape in his mind. He pressed his palms to the desk to steady himself as his legs felt strangely weak.

"She will undoubtedly be guarded by elite soldiers and you will be the apparent threat approaching via the front lines. You will be the focus of their attention. We will remain unnoticed until…"

"You flank them."

He could see it now. The trap and distraction. He could see that woman surrounded by knights, watching his advance from behind axes and lances. His fingers twitched on the surface of the desk as he felt the shaft of his weapon swinging, stabbing, cracking bones.

The knights protecting her started to advance on him but a shadow crossed above them. Like lightning they were felled by swooping knights on the backs of armored Pegasus and the stinging segments of the Sword of the Creator glowing like embers through the air whipped across the breastplates of those left standing. She was unguarded and he, decorated in the blood of her decimated soldiers was ready to advance.

"My way will be clear." The tautness of his voice and the labor of his breath betrayed the intensity of his hunger for this fantasy to become a reality. Tomorrow he would gasp his goal. Tomorrow, every moment of the last four years he had spent training and toiling would converge as he watched the life leave her eyes just as he had watched the life leave his father's. He wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once and the relief and horror of what would come to pass.

Dimitri's eyes slid shut as he imagined the relief tomorrows battle would bring. He reveled in the image of his vanquished enemies and the one who had delivered it, basking fiercely in the fiery theater of war. Byleth.

Slowly, deliberately, he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. She stood so near to him, constant and beautiful bathed in the firelight, just as he had imagined moments ago. As though flights of fancy became material, their eyes met and instinct and base desire ignited within him. He wanted her as much as he had wanted anything in his life.

His hands pushed harder against the desk, arms trembling under the weight of supporting him, splaying his fingers apart. He struggled to stifle the image of her head rolled back, lips slightly parted and the pulse at her neck fluttering beneath the skin. Unblinking, he focused on her eyes and the sound of her voice and she met him with her own unblinking gaze.

His eyes, ablaze with passion took hold of her and she quivered beneath their heat. She could no longer deny the reasons why she had crafted this strategy. It was true that to expect the Knights alone to prevent the Imperial army from reaching the monastery walls was ludicrous. It was also true that she could use the strength of her students and the crown-prince's dire thirst for revenge to their advantage. But, beneath his ravenous gaze, in the intimate seclusion of this night, Byleth could not deny her own longing to ease his suffering.

Tenderness had taken root and grown over their time together, blossoming in the darkest days following her father's murder. He alone understood and offered her commiseration in the place of misplaced pity. He had sworn to her that he would aid her in her mourning and revenge but she deceived herself by defining it as quid pro quo.

She swallowed as he fixed her with his gaze alight with need and hunger. Every cell in her body felt drawn to him, to reveal to him her intentions in the crafting of this strategy. This was the moment when, if she was still there, Sothis would speak, to chide her and remind her of her station but only silence met her as she listened.

Raising her hand and unfurling her fingers as though presenting him with a gift in her palm, her voice shook as she spoke, "I will deliver her to you."

His eyebrows drew down, furrowing as though he was not surprised by what she had revealed to him. She found that she was holding her breath, waiting for some form of response from him but the silence was agonizing. Fear trapped her breath inside of her lungs and she thought she might suffocate should he not speak soon.

He was transfixed by her gaze and the pull of hope held him prisoner, hope and a longing to be reminded that he was also a human. A deep yearning to be touched threatened to break him as he stood before her.

He should leave. Dimitri commanded his body to push up from the desk and leave but he could not. His arms shook under the force with which he pushed against the desk. The thought that she would reach for him, that she would invite him to touch her or want someone like him to hold her brought to light a crippling, doubting pain from deep within him.

In a singular moment, his fate was sealed and there would be no escape as he watched her lips form the sounds of his name. "Dimitri."

His name on her lips was at once a question and a bittersweet longing that sounded so much like his own yearning. As the sound of her voice dispersed into the air, he could hear nothing but the deafening beating of blood in his veins and the sharp inhale and exhale of his breath. She called to him in the simplest, purest tones of invitation.

Anger welled up within him as he fought against the carnal pull of the woman before him and the bonds that ensnared him in seclusion and darkness. Could he deny her any longer? Could he deny himself any longer the refuge that the sound of his name on her tongue promised?

He held her in his gaze as these questions buzzed in his skull and he balanced between doubt and longing. The air vibrated between them charged by their longing and defiance in the face of weakness and need.

Cursing himself, he relented and reached to take her outstretched hand. The skin of her wrist was cool and soft under his thumb as his hand glided to take hold of her. Of the same mind, Byleth took hold of his cape and pulled with the same frenzied strength as he. Their bodies crashed together and they clung to one another as though to keep from being swept away by the intensity of their passion. His palms flattened against her back, holding her securely against him as their lips connected and she grabbed a fistful of his hair in her hand.

The pull of his hair spoke of her own desire and she met his lips with reckless abandon. Her lips were as exquisite and intoxicating against his as he had dreamed. He tightened his arms around her, drawing her roughly against him as he lowered his head to take her lips more fully. She gasped softly at the strength of his hold and rose on her toes to meet him.

Craving more of him, her tongue brushed past his lips to enter his mouth. He smelled like the outside and tasted like metal. Her tongue jolted at the taste of him, urging her to push harder past timid exploration to assail his mouth more ravenously and he matched her intensity and hunger.

Rolling his tongue and adjusting the angle of his head he entered her mouth and his knees threatened to buckle as he tasted her. He had not tasted anything since the Tragedy, sweet, spice or herb but, goddess, he could taste her! A nameless emotion thundered through his chest as he deepened his kiss, devouring the taste of spring and nectar heated by their intermingled breath.

Her hand had settled on the back of neck and his skin prickled in response. He could feel every part of him respond to her, imbued with life by her touch. To him, who had lived with deadened senses for years, the sensations both enticed and threatened to overwhelm him. His fingers contracted along her back as the need for her grew hotter, burning in the pit of his stomach.

So awakened were her senses that she felt the vibrations from his pleased moan resonate deliciously in her own mouth. Each flick of his tongue across her own stoked the burn of adrenaline, filling her legs, igniting her center. This was better than feeling nothing she admitted to herself. The hot breath of her lover, the taste of molten lead; it all filled her, replacing the aching emptiness and silence inside her heart.

Byleth gasped at the memory of that bleak emptiness and pressed herself to him more fiercely, grasping at relief from her solitude. With a throaty, wanton sound, she rolled her hips against him, along the length of his erection beneath his clothing. The motion prompted a grinding response of his own and he answered her with a soft growl against her lips. He lowered a hand to grip her thick muscular thigh and draw it up to his hip.

Often had his gaze, unguarded, wandered to her legs when observing her demonstrations on the training grounds. Her pale, milky skin visible between the intricate weaving of the patterned fabric of her tights moving with her as though it were part of her. Unable to help himself, he tightened his grip dragging his thumb and fingers along the rough textured fabric and soft warm flesh of her leg.

Byleth leaned into him and he shifted his grip to slide a hand behind her, cupping the supple definition of her buttock before pulling her against him. She gasped at the power of his hands and the command of his touch.

He could feel the warmth of her inviting him through her clothes as they settled into a primal rocking dance. Byleth arched her back in response to a lengthy, hard roll of his hips and he was presented with the extended flesh of her neck at the parting of their lips. Greedily, he wasted no time in pressing his lips to the side of her throat and, feeling the flutter of her pulse beneath his tongue. He stifled an impulse to bite and instead he grazed with his teeth, followed by swift flicks of his tongue and delighted in the goosebumps rising from her skin.

Byleth's eyes shot open as his lips fastened on a sensitive part of her neck. Her stomach turned and her toes curled at the feel of his teeth and her breath, labored as it was, slipped into soft pants. The grind of his hips filled her legs and pelvis with a throbbing ache which rose to meet the forking current of ecstasy spreading from his mouth fastened to her neck and the only thought she could grasp to was suffocating feel of her collar restraining her neck. Prying a hand from the nape of his neck, she clasped the fabric and with a decisive motion she tore it away at the seam.

At the realization of what she had done, Dimitri released a guttural pleased sound and dipped his mouth to explore her collar bone. A glance through narrowed eyes revealed her bare skin from neck to breast and he shifted his hands to support the small of her back. Byleth's back arched into the support of his hand. His other hand slid up her rib cage to cradle the weight of her breast, marveling at the softness and the catch of his lover's breath as his thumb brushed across the sensitive flesh. Ravenously, he lowered his face to her chest, exploring with lips, tongue and teeth. He was at once assailed by the fragrance of her. She smelled of earth and soil, rich and fertile. She smelled like life itself and he needed to taste her again. Shifting his hand to her shoulder blades, she rolled up to meet his lips with a hunger to rival his own.

Growling again he released her breast to take hold of her backside and pull her hips roughly against his own and she echoed the unrestrained motion with a deliberate dragging of her pelvis along the full length of him. She could feel him straining involuntarily against the fabric of his clothing and an instinctual grind of her core resulted in long groan from her lover against her mouth. He felt a painful ache, throbbing, straining to be nearer to her, to be inside of her, surrounded by her. Taking firm hold of her, he shifted his weight to turn and push her back against the desk.

Byleth clung to his back, burying her face in his neck, hungrily running her tongue along his pulse, enrapt in the taste of his skin. The desk scraped loudly in protest along the stone floor.

All reason and decorum were burned away in the flames that spread throughout him. He could no longer deny himself the closeness of her the feel of her body against his own nor did he want to. His skin sprang to life under her touch, his blood sang through his body and each gasp and moan from her lips crashed against his ears in vivid clarity. He worshiped her with each kiss and touch and in return she revived him and his senses lived in ways he could not remember.

He gripped her hips to lift her onto the desk which scraped indignantly again. She knew this was madness somewhere in the recesses of her mind but the feel of his tongue, the scent of his sweat and the unbridled intensity of his hands on her body erased all reason. Raging heat rushed throughout her as he took her lips again with such recklessness and ferocity that she tasted blood. Her thighs ached deeply and she squeezed them against his hips. She could hear his breath become labored as they resumed their long, steady, rocking dance. But this delicious pressure was not enough to satiate her. She needed him closer and drew her legs tighter around him, lifting her hips in a long, exaggerated grind that produced a fully vocalized groan of pleasure from him.

He throbbed painfully against her, each grind against the heat between her legs provided a momentary relief from the longing to fill her. He left the skin at her neck red, flush with blood and drank from her lips again. Her tongue responded immediately, meeting his own with reckless voracity.

The pressure between them continued to mount until he could bear it no longer. His fists balled and he brought them down with a frustrated slam on the desk which echoed in the cavernous room. He pulled away from her lips with a smack. She leaned forward to find his lips again but he pressed his forehead to her own, holding her at bay as they stared at one another with predatory eyes.

As though anticipating a return to his mouth, the tip of Byleth's tongue darted out, tasting him on her own scarlet hued lips. The sound of their heated breath rushing in and out of the lungs sounded like waves to her as they pushed against each other. His unblinking stare penetrated her defenses and she was afraid that had seen the ugliness of her grief and the shame of her loneliness but, amidst the fear she found that she did not care.

Dimitri saw his own thirst and hunger reflected in her fathomless eyes and he knew that he could never leave her. Their fates were intertwined, indelible and inescapable. In this moment, she could ask anything of him and he would obey.

"_YOU BELONG TO US!"_

"_You have no future to promise!"_

"_You promised us!" _

The voices sprang from the silence, assailing him, robbing him of this moment. He remembered with crippling clarity that he had no future and no duty or allegiance except to the dead but defiance rallied against the memory. Could he not be free for even a moment?

If the dead could not be free, did he have a right to be? His face spasmed, his composure cracking as he struggled to keep his secrets hidden and a question sprang to her eyes. Anger boiled inside of her as she realized that, even now, he kept a part of himself separate from her and she was reminded of the solitude waiting to press in around her.

Growling in shared frustration, they launched into one another again, the need to distract from the pain with sensation rising urgently once again.

He took hold of her cheeks, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. The dead continued their protestations but the sound of her arousal and the taste of her tongue goaded him on despite them. If he could taste of her deeply enough, he could drown out the mournful sounds of his burden.

Her teeth closed on his bottom lip, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure coursing through him. He pulled back and she allowed his lip to slip from her teeth. With near frantic energy, she found his hips through the fabric of his jacket and nimbly rolled the fabric up.

A shameless groan escaped his throat and he felt the muscles of his stomach, groin and thighs contract sharply in reaction to the sudden feel of her fingertips on the naked skin of his stomach. Her knuckles brushed across the tight skin of his stomach which quivered as his breath shook as she looped her fingers behind and under the beltline searching for his belt buckle.

She halted her movement at his belt line as their foreheads pressed together again. Fluttering breath and kisses passed between them in a silent negotiation. He wet his lips as he felt her take hold of his belt.

"Do you…" he asked breathless between soft fleeting kisses to her lips and cheeks.

"Yes. Do you... " she said, flicking her tongue across his lower lip.

"Yes," he said, the desire evident in deepness his tone.

Byleth fumbled with his belt and a single look at her face confirmed all that he needed to know. Instantly, he abandoned her face to assist.

Under normal circumstances, something as simple as the buckle of his belt should have posed no difficulty but he grew immediately frustrated with his shaking hands. He could hear Byleth wrestling with her shorts and skirt and noticed them land silently on the floor from his peripheral. With a determined grunt, he broke the belt buckle having lost the remains of his patience.

"Have you done this before?" she asked, her voice unusually breathless. He glanced to her and found her perched on the edge of the desk silhouetted by the firelight behind her. Her knees where joined together girlishly. Her question relayed no judgement or expectation of him, nor was she afraid. Her voice communicated everything that he could not see on her backlit face. She was waiting for him.

He pulled his pants and undergarments down and stepping unceremoniously out of them, he returned to her in a rush. The agony of parting from her fueled his movements and his muttered response was nearly lost against the rejoining of their lips. "I don't need to have."

Byleth sighed with audible relief as he kissed her and parted her knees. She yearned for him, needed his touch that bit and burned like ice and his unyielding ravenous mouth. The smooth head of his erection dragged along her inner thigh as he curled into their kiss, taking her body into his arms and holding her tightly. Her blood was on fire, pulsing through her veins and the feel of him trembling with restraint around her spiked the ache in her core to spread to her inner thighs.

Dimitri curled into their kiss, a muffled moan rising in his throat as Byleth grazed her thighs against his. She had left her tights _on._ He caressed her thighs, relishing the feel of her skin beneath the course weaving of the lace tights. The pressure of his touch pushed her skin up through the cut-out shapes of the garment. His lover muttered his name against his lips at his touch and his sex throbbed painfully in response.

He instinctively ground against her and his knees almost buckled from the sensation of her skin and hair against his swollen, sensitive skin. Before he could fully recover, Byleth shifted and took the full length of him into her hands. The immediate pangs of pleasure at her touch spiked sharply with each controlled squeeze of her hands.

She relished the feel of him pulsing in her hands, reveling in the evidence of his desire for her. His skin was so soft, smooth and the sounds she elicited from her lover at each pulse of her hands and the hiss of his breath as she drew her grip along the length of him urged her on.

The need for her continued to build with her subtle stroking motion and his entire body quaked from the effort to restrain himself. When he could stand it no longer a bestial sound erupted from his throat and he ripped his lips away from her mouth to bite her shoulder. She cried out in surprise but the sound drew out into an elongated moan. Through the cloth of her shirt, he could taste the salt of sweat and the metallic tang of blood.

The stroking shifted into an unmistakable draw toward her center. He could feel her guiding the head of his sex closer to the warmth radiating from the juncture between her legs, felt her thighs spread wider at the advance of his hips and he bit down on his lower lip to keep from thrusting forward.

Base instinct roared an impulse to push, to penetrate, to relieve the building pressure surrounded by her. Hands trembling from restraint, Dimitri reached behind her to take hold of her backside and draw her closer to the edge of the desk. Raising his mouth from her shoulder to her ear, he asked, doubting again that this could be real. "Yes?"

The heat of his breath and the weight in his tone caused her to shiver and adrenaline shot like ice through her limbs. She met his eyes and his question with her answer. "Yes," she whispered, her lips brushing against his.

He exhaled, realizing that he'd been holding his breath. He wanted this more than anything he had wanted in his life.

"_THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT?"_ came the repeating, overlapping chorus of voices intruding with an explosion into his consciousness. The crescendo of voices echoed and reverberated in his skull.

He gritted his teeth attempting to ignore the accusing voices of his departed loved ones, trying desperately to focus on the feel of Byleth's hands drawing him, guiding him home to her. The feel of her opening against the sensitive head of his penis was welcoming and inviting and he felt a swell of longing rise in his stomach.

"_Selfish. Weak. You are weak and selfish. Coward! Unworthy,"_ became the predominant voice of his father among the chorus, rising in pitch and intensity until the words were no longer intelligible. The dead could know no indulgence, only the pain of separation forever being parted from the glory of life. They demanded his allegiance, his service and sacrifice to save them and free them from their torment.

Every muscle locked as he hesitated, poised to enter her with the slightest movement of his hips. The nerves at the oversensitive head blazed to life at the warm, moist opening of his lover.

He commanded the voices to calm. _"I am in control, not you," _he asserted, steeling his will and focusing his attention to the present. He felt the warmth and life and the promise of pleasure and connection to the woman writhing with anticipation in front of him. She was waiting for him to arrive, to join with her, to love her.

"Dimitri!"

Her voice was filled with urgency, tinged with panic at his delay. She needed him and her call shattered the noise clouding his senses like glass. His hands contracted, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her and a curl of his hips drove his sex inside of her.

The snugness of her closed around him and the heat that pulsed from her engorged walls were unlike anything he could have imagined. He felt at once that he had come home to a familiar place and the rush of exploration. His forehead rested against Byleth's and he watched with enrapt fascination as her face contorted, first in pain and then shifting into glorious pleasure.

His coming into her was searing and she held her breath as he plunged forward. In a rush, she exhaled, whimpering against his cheek reminding herself to relax. When he could no longer push forward, he withdrew just enough to feel the release of her breath and the softening of her core.

With a shuddering breath, he dipped deeper, burying himself inside of her before retreating again. With each advance, she clung tightly to his back, seeking stability as he pushed between the tightness of her. The clenching of her velvety walls sent delicious bolts of pleasure through his core and he trembled against her as they ran their course.

Soft cries slipped from her lips with each movement. She could feel the pressure intensify with each stretching move forward, delving deeper into her than she thought possible. As he pulled back the friction was electrifying causing the muscles of her legs and center to contract.

Their movements gradually became more liberated as she opened to him. Dimitri's thrusts in and out produced high breathy sounds from Byleth as she too took on the rhythm. Her eyes fluttered open as their rhythm became more regular. Focusing on his face, she saw that it was fixed in concentrated restraint.

Lustily, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him forward with a jerk that drove him deeper inside of her than he thought possible. He groaned with satisfaction as his full length sheathed inside of her. Their bodies connected and he ground roughly down between her spread hips, pressing his knuckles to the desk on either side of her for stability. His face fell to her neck, where he instantly nipped at her as he rolled into her repeatedly.

She too pushed her hands against the desk behind her, tilting her hips up to meet him. Her body responded to each touch, murmur and shift in weight and she could not have pulled herself back from this precipice if she had wanted to.

Their hips fell into a primal rhythm. Slow. Intentional. Deep. With each rock of their hips, she could feel him dissolving into her, becoming one with her and she with him. He dragged his tongue along her neck and his breath was accompanied by low, guttural sounds driven out of him by the feel of her. She became lost in the scent of his arousal and the sounds of his pleasure.

His breath was coming in short bursts now and the sounds of her enjoyment came unhindered in time with his movements and the sound set his blood on fire. Shifting his weight, he supported himself with a single hand and scooped her forward with the other forearm at the small of her back. Her body responded with languid ease to him, whetting his appetite for more. Her hair glistened in the firelight as her back arched against him and he fastened his lips to her neck producing a sudden cry from her at the pressure of his tongue. He twitched inside of her at the sound.

Without warning, her cry shifted into something painful, something familiar. The scream of his step-mother rose in pitch, abruptly drowning out all other sounds. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his neck, pressing his cheek to Byleth's.

She could feel his breath become more labored as the speed of his hips increased, rushing from his open mouth to warm her cheek. The speed and the friction built inside her as he began to pull further out of her before plunging back into her and it sent new spasms of pleasure through her pelvis and legs. Her muscles contracted sharply with each swift thrust of his hips.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and his concentration threatened to fracture as he struggled to focus on the present but the shrieking would not relent. The pressure around him intensified and he felt his control slipping, winding too tightly to grasp.

"_We want I want, we need, need, need, need…"_

"_What?"_ he thought desperately. _"What do you need?"_

"_Her head_," came the answer, rolling, booming like thunder. All at once, crashing into his consciousness like water on the rocks, came rage and grief and the image of Edelgard's face healthy and alive then severed from her body, eyes rolled up, her skin bloodlessly pale. Suffocating emotion filled his lungs as the evidence of his duty filled his mind's eye.

Lips peeled back, baring his teeth against his lover's cheek as their bodies rose and fell together. He heard her name, dragged into the ether from deep within him, "Edelgard."

At once, he felt Byleth grow rigid against him and he realized that he had uttered the name aloud. As though satisfied with his punishment, the dead departed and his mind opened into cruel clarity.

The pain had been instant, forking like dry summer lightning and the subsequent forks raced mercilessly throughout her to splinter in all directions. Even in the intimacy of this act, Edelgard was present and in the forefront of his mind and she remembered that no blood tied them together. Hideous doubt and wretchedness seeped through her like a poison intensifying the pain that swelled with each breath. Pin pricks at the corners of her eyes burned, a precursor to the flood of tears she had meticulously dammed up inside her.

Suddenly, his face filled her vision, unreadable with features drawn taught and lips pressed together grimly. She would not give him the chance to speak; to explain or justify this injury. But as she swallowed to wet her throat she felt the hot wetness of tears breach and threaten to burst forth.

Her face contorted as she turned away from him and he flung his arms around her, desperate in his attempt to keep her. Her body stiffened against his and he could feel the fracture between them widen. Anguish strangled him, muted his tongue and everything that he wanted to say.

"Byleth," he did not recognize the sound of voice, begging in a single word for her forgiveness.

The need in his voice was ugly, weak and broken and it pierced her heart. Their suffering rang in her ears in unison, begging for connection and longing for relief from their solitude. Unable to release her anger and expose her vulnerability, panic gripped her chest, strangling her breath, numbing her mind. She jerked to face him and the anger there was unmistakable in her wild, glowing green eyes.

Her legs tightened around him and she grasped the fabric of his coat with both hands. She moved deftly before he had gathered his wits, rolling backward and hefted him to arc over her and land heavily on the desktop.

Byleth was on top of him before he could catch the breath that was knocked out of him upon impact, straddling him. He raised up on his elbows and was met with her lips. She kissed him with harsh aggression and he met her with renewed fervor, drinking in each moment as though it were the last.

Her anger ebbed as he kissed her and she allowed it to break as she parted from his lips. She could not bear to ask if he wanted her so instead, she asked almost too softly, "Do you want this?"

His heart leapt as she spoke to him but he was faced with a choice. To betray himself and everything that he had worked for by reaching for her or to accept his burden to bear and save her from loving someone with no future, no birthright but ruin.

"Yes," he said, with heartbreaking earnestness. She studied him for a moment, searching for something in his eyes or on his face. He did not know if she found what she was looking for but he was prepared for her to leave him at any moment, discovering how truly weak and unworthy he was and deserving of solitude. Resigning to this end, he allowed her to press him back against the desk with her hand on his chest.

Byleth took hold of his still erect penis between his legs and lowered herself down to join with him again. The briefest flash of confusion crossed his face but disappeared as she settled into a gentle rocking motion with her hips. With each flex of her thighs she rose then lowered down sheathing him again inside of her. As her pace quickened and low groans flowed from her mouth at each downward motion, her eyes slipped shut barring any distraction from the pleasure of this dance. He gripped her thighs as she moved, relishing the feel of her muscle flexing beneath her tights as new waves of heat coursed through him.

The friction and force from this position soon extinguished any lingering resentment within her. The feel of his hands on her hips, aiding in her movement were strong and comforting and she lowered one shaking hand to rest on his chest, the other on top of his hand, twining with his fingers. She ground down onto him, refusing to open her eyes. She knew if she looked at him, if she saw what she hoped to see in his eyes, she would relinquish any control she still had.

Not only had her speed increased but the force of her movements became more deliberate. He could feel her inside walls begin to contact and close around him. Each raise of her hips dragged along the length of him stoking the heat between them, building friction and winding ever tighter.

He fit more snuggly with each pump of her hips and new exquisite burning pulsed through her pelvis. Unabashed sounds burst free from her with the mounting pressure winding inside of her. The pressure mounted until her center squeezed so tightly around him that he could barely remain in control when every muscle in her body appeared to lock.

She threw her head back, a strangled cry erupting from her as contraction after contraction shook through her body with brilliant release. She could feel her loneliness, grief, rage and cravings rush to the top of her throat and burst with each expression of her ecstasy.

As her climax took hold, the involuntary contractions within her continued to build around him and the sight of her, ravaged by her orgasm robbed Dimitri of all control. His body convulsed and his hips jutted up to meet her. The sounds of his own climax echoed through the cavernous room. Molten fire rushed beneath his skin, setting his senses blazing as every muscle in his body tightened to the breaking point. Tremors wracked throughout him and he surged upright to cling to her tightly.

She dissolved into him, fitted to him perfectly and winding her slender arms tightly around him to weather the storm of their passion. Dimitri buried his face in her chest, breathing deeply of her verdant scent and he felt her nestle her face into his hair. As though a great boulder had been dislodged from a stream, the relief that washed over him brought with it the release of unexpected emotion. Grief that he had believed to be locked away rushed through him and an unnamed loneliness welled up his throat to prick at the corners of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut but they came regardless, leaking silently onto his cheeks and Byleth's shoulder.

He did not deserve the peace and comfort of this moment but he could not muster the strength to pull away. Her embrace was safety and her fragrance was peace. He could sleep here, finally. She stroked his hair then held his head tightly against her chest.

A new sense of grief poured over her as she remembered the impermanence and impossibility of this moment and she inhaled deeply, committing his scent to memory. She noticed the wetness on her cheeks. She wished… she wished that she was not what she was. She wished, not for the first time, that she had never come to this place. Certainly, the life she lived before and would have lived out would be preferable to the parting that was to come.

The feel of her lips on the top of his head was bittersweet in its finality. She was preparing to leave him. She lingered there a moment more with her lips pressed to his head, her fingers woven through his golden hair and the silence rushed in to press against them. With deliberate movement, she released him and he let her slide from his lap. The returning sense of solitude grew thick around him and he felt vulnerable.

Byleth could feel him watching her as she collected her clothing and redressed. Her skin felt cold without him and weakness threatened to drive her back. With each breath, she recounted why this should never have been. He was the crown-prince of Faerghus, destined to ascend the throne and marry someone befitting of that office. She was a mercenary of unknown lineage masquerading as a professor. He was her student and she was responsible for his safety and training despite their proximity in age. She may not even be human. What child is born without a heartbeat? What sort of human can wield the Sword of the Creator without succumbing to madness?

When all weakness and warmth had been tucked away inside of her, sealed against resurfacing, Byleth retrieved her cloak and returned it to her shoulders. When she turned to face him she found him seated on the edge of the desk, silhouetted by the firelight behind him, eyes downcast and hidden behind thick strands of his hair.

Stubbornly, he matched her with the same cool regard from behind strands of hair that had fallen across his lowered face. After a moment, she began to walk past the desk toward the doors of the classroom.

He accepted this as punishment for disregarding his duty, for the weakness that he could not cut away. He would not disgrace himself further by calling out to her or pursuing her to prevent her leaving. Each click of her boots on the stone floor carried her further way and, try as he might, he could not deny the piercing pain that each sound inflicted upon him.

Her breath rushed out as she stopped in the door frame and no matter how sternly she commanded herself to turn and regard him, her body would not comply. Bracing herself on the door frame, she steadied her voice and spoke, "Good night, your highness."

He lifted his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling. In that instant, the spell of that night was broken. Order and equilibrium returned and it was with no great difficulty that he responded in the same even tone. "Good night, Professor."


End file.
